I'd Rather Go Blind: Volcano and the Hurricane
by E.J. Cady
Summary: Continuing the fun.
1. Chapter 1

Jo trained her gaze on her shoe. The heel of the sneaker rested over the top of her left foot. She could feel her captain's glare. She didn't look up to acknowledge it. She heard a large sigh coming from the robust man and the whine of his chair as he sat back. She hadn't made the last few months easy on anyone. She knew it. So it made sense to expect a fall out of her actions didn't it? She sat vaguely resigned, but stubbornness wouldn't let her resolutely submit to whatever punishment her captain meant for her.

"What do you want me to do with you?"

She met Captain Lundy gaze straightening her back for no other reason than to move the limbs that had grown numb from waiting. She wouldn't have a choice of her fate. She knew the question was rhetorical as he contemplated aloud.

"I was doing my job," Jo defended her actions.

"Damn you Polniaczek. I could smell that shit you don't think stink under your shoe before you waltzed in here." He threw a folder on the part of the desk closest to her. She was startled by the action looking from her captain to the folder reaching for it when he encouraged with a nod.

She opened it and for the last the eight months saw what she had become in the file. On paper she looked like a jackass. The type of cop someone from her old neighborhood would have expected her to become. Everything was conjecture , but anyone with eyes and a brain could put two and two together. It wasn't easy to hear you were becoming a mess, but it was worse to see it unfolding in document after document, each one detailing the fall of a promising cop.

"I don't know what you did. I don't care. But ADA Birch has got a hard on making your life a living hell. Your cases seem to always fall short and that doesn't look good for the department."

The department meant him. The blue bloods were forcing his hand and somehow Jo couldn't help thinking that two key players had something to do with that pressure. Jo had a file of misconduct that wasn't has seasoned as some of the veteran cops still employed by the NYPD. Despite the A.C. working on high it felt as if her chair had been especially warmed for this occasion.

"No one wants to work with you. Your team has requested that you be transferred elsewhere."

Kolfee had been the only of her two partners that understood. If he wanted her gone it wasn't personal. He was a black man who wanted to make a career of the law. Jo stood in the way of that if she was within a a hair's breadth away from any of the cases he intended to close. Scott just didn't want her there. He felt as if she betrayed a trust. Whatever it was, they never talked about it. dividing up the work through the buffer Kolfee had become. Now they wanted her gone.

"I bust a couple heads. Bruise a few egos. That's grounds for what?"

"I don't think your understanding the shit that you're in Jo," he leaned forward. His voice controlled. He wanted to yell, but exertions of energy like yelling made him tired. From the look of it his anger lacked passion. He was enjoying this as much as she was. His jacket probably made her look like a girl scout if someone were inclined to look close enough. The part of him that could sympathize was giving her the courtesy of a warning.

"Politics," Jo laughed humorlessly.

"Some bend over more than others. And then some of us are expected to bend over more than others. Marshall…"

"Was a solid case," Jo interrupted.

"When you go after men like that you don't hand over a case your own ADA doesn't think he can win."

Jo scoffed. The rest of the story was too sordid to share. But from time to time she entered a room that went silent when she entered. She met glares that ranged from curious to malicious or lascivious. The department knew what she was. And while they could whisper it behind her back they had no idea what she'd lost. The loss made her bitter. She could remember a time when she was a much more graceful loser. Then again nothing had ever been on the line that could quite measure up to Blair Warner.

"I had the case I underestimated the moral fortitude of the ADA."

"You haven't been listening to a word I've said, Polniaczek," he said as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I'm not safe on either end captain. One wants me on my back and the other likes it doggy style. So what should I be listening to?"

"In this world you're either giving it or getting it. I'm giving you this," he handed her a card. The name on the card read Melvin Gladd. She had never heard of him before. Her captain didn't wait for her to ask when he explained why he gave her the card. "If you weren't a damn good cop that card wouldn't be in your hand.

He stood and opened the door. The blind swung as it opened. Jo turned her head before she stood up and let herself be dismissed without definitiveness to her future. The short trek to her office up the stairs took a lot out of her. Work had been her constant. It wasn't the addicts she was trying to save. Her drive was inspired by the dealers she wanted to punish. Marshall Parent hadn't been her mistake, but it was a mistake that haunted her. Now she was obsessed with inflicting pain on others so she could avoid her own. Her collars were arriving in a troubling pattern, bruised by means that didn't coincide with the reports Jo wrote up.

Perhaps she should have taken time off. She sank into a deep depression after Blair had chosen Graham over her and work had seemed like a positive distraction at the time. Driving her, writing reports, making collars seemed to affirm that she was fine. But she wasn't. She was slipping into a dark place she hadn't revisited since childhood. Her hands were still raw from her, but the satisfaction surpassed and in some ways heightened the pain. She enjoyed his fight. She enjoyed the pain of it giving and receiving the hurt. What was so wrong about that? She resigned from social work for a more hands on approach and now they were telling her she was too hands on.

The door to the office opened to Kolfee and Scott meeting her gaze. It was obvious she had interrupted something. She could make a scene. She smiled to herself. If she did make a scene she could make it good. After all, she'd learned from the best. It seemed the women in her life were experts. Blair would have barged in demanding to know what was going on.. Dorothy may have channeled some of Blair, but taken a different approach with the quiet hurt of betrayal masked by rage taking shape with words too eloquent for Jo. Jo didn't do eloquent. She didn't do scenes. At least not since her and Blair stopped living together.

Meeting their gazes Kolfee's fell first. Scott met her eyes waiting. Despite her newfound joy for inflicting pain the people she cared about wouldn't be subject to her violence. Scott hadn't wronged her even if he felt slighted. She went through her desk. There wasn't much that needed to be taken from it. The few objects she wanted to take fit in her hand. Collecting her belongings from her desk she left the way she came. It was an underwhelming ending.

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Joy, it wasn't imagined. She felt it when he held her. She knew that this was right if nothing else in her life would ever be. Marshall stood over her. His bare chest had beads of sweat playing on the ends of his chest hairs. He palmed her legs as he pulled her closer. It was the same strength that frightened her the night he attacked her. Now it excited her. How had she come to this? She knew the answer. The blue box lay open, the bow discarded on the floor somewhere. It sat on her table, no longer holding the gift inside it.

Her addiction made it easy for him to slither around her and choke her into submission. The sex was her idea of a gift to herself. Sex with Jo was a reminder of what she wasn't or rather _who _she wasn't. She felt her ministrations. She enjoyed the work of pleasure, but in the end it wasn't Boots that Jo saw when she closed her eyes, or even when she opened them. Sex wouldn't let her escape the pain she was determined to keep to herself despite the damage it caused. .

"No one will give you what I can," he sank inside her, taking her while she lost herself in the high and the flesh.

They were both too occupied to hear the apartment door open. They were still too occupied to notice the noise that Jo made as she rummaged through the kitchen to satisfy a hunger she didn't have. But Jo heard them. Work had been her constant, but Boots had become her only friend. The sounds from her bedroom were familiar and couldn't be mistaken for anything other than what it was. A man and a woman having sex.

She could lie to herself and say she was jealous, just for the sake of saying it. She kicked the door wider, hitting the wall behind the door. Jo imagined the crunch she heard after it swung open meant a hole the size of a door handle was now a temporary decoration.

Questions ran through her head, but as she asked each one an answer came after it. There was nothing left to do but to act. She felt her hands fold into a fist and she attacked. Marshall slumped backward into the dresser. Boots scurried away with a sheet over her as if there was decency to redeem. Jo glared at the move. In a fair fight Marshall could have taken her with his size alone, but Jo didn't believe in fair fights. The streets made her familiar with the phrase as a kid, but it was an unpracticed philosophy. She worked on surprise. When that wore off and he regained his footing he landed a right on her temple. She backed away, creating space, but he followed her. His forward movement met by a sneaker between his legs. She knew it was a cheap shot, but she could live with it.

His legs folded as his eyes watered a little in the corners. She slammed her foot into his chest so he couldn't breathe. Jo backed away and Boots recovered, watching Jo with a dazed admiration. Jo wondered what she had saved the heiress from.

"I didn't give you a key so you could interrupt my play time."

Boots' eyes were dilated. The woman was high.

"Get up," she growled to Marshall. She threw his clothes at him as he crawled to the door. She remembered the first time she kicked him out. Boots' fear had driven her to act on instinct. Now she knew who this man was and what he was capable of doing. She didn't want him anywhere near the socialite.

He gathered himself together at the door. He shoved his pants on, then his shirt. He stood obstinately. Jo wasn't impressed. She withdrew her pistol from under her jacket. Boots looked at the gun, barely sobering. However, Marshall wasn't as far gone. She held her weapon steady with an ease that Marshall had yet to master. Still there was part of him unwilling to give up so easily.

"You wouldn't shoot me."

"She'd shoot you," Boots corrected. "And I wouldn't try to stop her," she added with more seriousness as a smile played on her lips.

Jo didn't move, her finger slowly tightening on the trigger, daring him to stay. He shoved off the door, putting on his jacket haphazardly as he was making his way out. The door slammed behind him.

Jo lowered her gun. She placed the safety back on before placing it in the holster. The silence that greeted them after he left didn't sit well with Jo. "What, so you don't have to pay for it now? Or was that how you're paying for it now?"

"Jealous?" the brunette countered, hoping, but already knowing what the answer would be.

Jo shook her head. "You know I'm not," Jo said as she stepped away from the bed. The smell of sex was suffocating her. She stomped down the hall while Boots followed moments later with a shirt to cover herself.

"No, you wouldn't be. My hair's not blonde, is it?"

Jo jumped when fingers began playing with her hair. She didn't know where those fingers had been and rather than let her thoughts wonder about Boots comment, she held on to her anger.

"You're going too far."

Boots laughed.

Jo glared in answer, rising.

If Jo had any question how drastically she'd changed, Boots would happily oblige her with a not so happy truth. Her bruises past and present weren't a result of playing nice. She was used to seeing Jo's hands misshapen and bruised.

Boots smiled dropped when Jo picked up another blue box Marshall left for her. The brunette glared heading for the kitchen ripping the top off too quickly for Boots to react. She found herself hitting her friend hard. Her nails digging into her neck and arms to get to the box or rather its contents. But Jo had already turned the faucet on. Down the white powder fell and the water washed away the residue Boots would have gladly salvaged. Pushing the woman away Jo finally moved, watching Boots hold onto the sink for dear life. As if by pure will the drug wouldn't be gone. But it was.

"If she looks like a addict, acts like a addict, chances are she is a addict." Jo stared at her as the woman's back hunched over, still staring into the wetness in her sink.

Jo expected wit. Quips were easy and her rage expertly wielded by the wealthy brunette Yes, it was rage that prompted a delicately manicured hand to reach for the handle of a knife and lung for the cop. Jo didn't expect it. She was trained to act and adapt to every situation. Boots took advantage of the element of surprise.

She looked at her arm and then at the knife Boots still held with her own red blood on the bend of the blade. The woman lunged again, but this time Jo was prepared. She grabbed the arm coming at her and held the woman close with tears of rage forming in her eyes. Jo gripped her arm tightly, keeping the knife as far away as she could, all the while tightening the hug.

"Boots," she whispered, "this isn't you."

The woman answered with a pained laugh, "this is me Jo. In all my glory," she whispered back harshly, sinking her teeth in the detective's ear.

Jo reacted. The blow was hard and quick and Boots fell back from surprise and the impact. She lost her footing and landed on the threshold that separated the kitchen and her carpeted floor. Her bare legs felt the cold of the kitchen floor. The rest of her felt chilled when her eyes met Jo's. Forgetting the hand with the knife Jo knelt down, not yet ready to apologize, but aware that both of them needed to.

Boots cut her arm again above the elbow, inches from the first cut. Jo looked at her, slapping Boots again. The woman's head jerked back, but she recovered with surprising speed, resting the blade at the nape of Jo's neck. Jo lifted her head, dropping from her haunches to fall on her ass. Boots followed her slight descent straddling the legs with the knife steady. The hand was too steady for Jo to feel comfortable enough to act just yet.

Keeping her grip on the knife, Boots unblinkingly felt for Jo's wrist, demanding the limp hand under her shirt to her center. Jo tried to pull away, but the knife pushed against her flesh, cutting her. Narrowed eyes met Boots daring glare as her fingers came alive. Boots jumped excitedly hitching her breath as Jo played in the wetness soaking her fingers.

Jo pushed forward despite the blade still held at her neck until her lips met in a soft collision of flesh. Jo forgot the pain in the wake of arousal and the urgency to overpower and take.

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"Have I told you lately how proud I am of you?" Blair looked up from her work to greet her father with a modest smile.

David entered her office pushing off the frame of the door. . _She has her mother's good looks and I'm grateful for that,_ _but everything else_ _is all me_, he thought to himself proudly. He remembered being young and ambitious. He also remembered how often the two made marriage difficult. He worked to make her life easy, but she was loathe to follow the path of luxury her mother couldn't live without.

"You haven't, but it's nice to hear you say it," his daughter put her pen down from the document she'd been perusing.

"Don't you have a husband to run off to?" he asked keeping his timbre light despite the seriousness of neglecting one's other half.

Blair knew the time, but she looked at it again. It read nine thirty two, but the discovery didn't strike urgency in the blonde's movements.

"Both of our jobs are demanding daddy. He's probably not even home yet," but she knew Graham was home. He told her he would be. She ran her fingers across the keyboard typing last minute revisions to complete a contract to be printed tomorrow.

"I don't have many regrets Blair," her fingers stilled as her father spoke, but she didn't lift her fingers from the keyboard or remove her eyes from the screen. "But old age makes one contemplate mistakes. I did so many great things right behind a desk not unlike this one," he nodded to her desk. "But there's more to life than appointments and negotiations. You get too comfortable in the routine and you let the decorum of work seep into your personal life. Then one day you discover you've missed out on your daughter's childhood."

Blair was touched by her father's words. It wasn't often he shed the Warner charm to be genuine and entertain the emotion of remorse. She was used to him placating her sensibilities to avoid responsibility for mistakes he may have made. Now in no uncertain terms he owned up to one mistake going as far to warn her of her path.

The socialite knew her father's intentions were inspired by the husband he felt she may be neglecting. But her thoughts veered to Jo. The night where in the same breath she had professed love and daring in one moment and then she had cowered behind the familiarity of the man she meant to leave in the next. Jo witnessed her at her best and worst, but now where did that leave their friendship? They barely spoke if messages relayed by Boots were any indication of communication. She had been so easily replaced by her former rival and there was nothing she could do about it. Nothing she felt could be done without hurting people, namely Graham.

Happiness was a selfish notion. She supposed that's why so many people were unhappy. Was she happy? If she had to ask then perhaps she wasn't. The strange look from her father reminded her where they started. Graham, not Jo, was the one she shared her life with the only way a man and a wife could. She wondered if the energy he spent on finalizing deals could have saved his and her mother's marriage. Perhaps that was the real lesson. She could have chosen Jo, but she didn't. She chose Graham. The man was waiting for her and she was fighting sleep to finish writing her thoughts unsure if her internal war made sense on paper.

"You can talk to me about anything princess," he said leaning back, illustrating he had all the time in the world if she needed that much.

She shook her head. "I think you're right daddy," she closed out of her document and logged off her computer as she arranged the errant papers on her desk into three stacks.

"About?"

"Life," she picked up her jacket with a renewed purpose. She kissed him on his forehead, leaving him with a smile on his face. After all this time she cared about his opinion; it made an old man feel good.

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"You lost?" a young boy asked Jo when she entered Gladd Arcade. It was quiet due to school, but by the end of the evening she imagined the space would be full of loud, obnoxious kids. The redhead stopping her looked old enough to be in school. Jo wondered why he wasn't.

"Are you?" the brunette countered, pushing passed the kid with little effort.

"I live here," he answered. Jo spared the boy a knowing look. Games filled the one floor of video games and vending machines. This was a kid's paradise. When he said he lived there he probably meant it.

"I'm looking for Melvin Gladd," she eyed the room. If the boy lived here then he would know.

The kid kept a close eye on the stranger. He made it a point to know people. Strange faces weren't always welcomed by Melvin. He looked her up and down from the brown leather bomber to the straight legged jeans and white sneakers.

"Never heard of 'em," the boy leaned against one of the machines. She looked up to the office, but it looked empty.

She pursed her lips, jerking her head toward the outside. "So where's the Gladd come from in Gladd Arcade?"

"We're happy gamers," the boy smiled thinly.

Jo chuckled at the kid. He wasn't giving up anything. He reminded Jo of herself as a kid; a wisecracker with little respect for adults. She could mask the smell of cop, but there was no denying she was a grown up now.

A sound came from the far right corner under another exit sign. The boy jerked his head along with Jo, who was already moving to the sound. The owner of the collection of choice words glared at his finger.

Jo cleared her throat, announcing her arrival. The young boy stood at her side glaring. He took advantage of the distance positioning himself between the stranger and the man she assumed was Melvin Gladd. He wore a denim jacket hung open to reveal a large belly stretching a white t-shirt.

"Who is this?" he asked the boy.

"Don't know. She looks like trouble," the boy crossed his arms. It filled him with pride to be spoken to as an equal. Melvin supplied him with equality and he played his part for the older man.

Jo quirked her brow in response still confused by her captain's suggestion that she come here.

"Yea," he grew out the word glaring at his finger, as he asked, "you the stubborn shit Lundy sent to darken my door?"

Jo nodded her head to the side rubbing her neck for no other reason than to keep from wincing. "If that's the ways you want to put it…sure."

"That's the condensed version. The Cap is a bit longwinded for my taste." Jo's brows hitched in agreement, "but he's a fair man," Gladd finished firmly refusing to be misunderstood. Lundy was as good as they come considering he spoke politician too fluently to be understood at a baser level. Although the only thing Melvin needed to know was that Lundy would take one for the team as long as their work made him look good. Their arrangement provided some leeway for his team. He wasn't looking for a new addition especially one handpicked by the department, but Lundy had called bordering desperate.

He fought tooth and nail for Jo. There were few things the man cared about. It was odd to hear him passionate about a drug cop at odds with an ADA who wouldn't take her cases. It seemed more personal than political, but in a few short words Melvin was convinced. Now the woman stood before him looking like she had everything to prove and he wasn't sure if that made her dangerous in a good or bad way.

"Find a pen and paper for this thing will ya," he glared at the machine still cradling his finger. "She's outta commission til further notice."

Jo smirked at the kid's glare, following Melvin toward the stairs that led up to his office. "What are you doing here?"

"I don't know," Jo's voice echoed in the narrow stairway. She cringed inwardly as the uncertainty of her answer bounced off the walls beating into the part of her psyche that never felt good enough.

He whipped around sharply startling her as she stopped dead barely in the room. "Don't come in here with 'I don't knows' kid. No half ass 'maybes' or 'I'll trys'. I ain't got time for it. What are you doing here?"

He sounded too menacing to be satisfied with nothing less than the heart of her arrival.

"I don't want to stop being a cop."

Graham could end her and she knew it. So did Lundy. Melvin was her last chance for her empathy to matter beyond empty musings.

"Why?" he asked incredulously.

"I've been on hard cases…" she started her memories flooding with crime scene photos.

Melvin interrupted, "My dick gets harder than the cases you've seen so far rookie." Jo hadn't been called rookie in a long time. She hated it back then and she wasn't fond of it now.

"I want to help…." She started again only to be interrupted.

"We don't help old ladies cross streets or save cats from trees. The people here don't want our help. They want to keep shooting themselves up with junk. How you gonna help someone so high and out of it they'd sooner blow you away than give a damn about hearing how you want to help?" The distance between them was small enough for his breath to blow her eye lashes. Most people would have taken a step back. Jo knew that's what he expected her to do.

"One day at a time," Jo answered levelly.

The answer held reason. Her eyes held fire. Melvin knew there was something to this woman, but it wouldn't be figured out now.

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Natalie sipped her coffee as she slowly woke up for the day. An all too chipper visitor dropped on her desk.

"Go away or I'll burn you." Natalie couldn't say for certain that she hated Jennifer Ambry. She couldn't say for certain that she didn't hate Jennifer Ambry. The only certainty of that moment was that it was way too early to deal with the coarse woman.

The woman shook her head tauntingly, "you don't hate me that much to sacrifice your coffee."

Natalie stopped from sipping to think. "This is true," she conceded. The cup nor its mysteriously splendid contents would be going anywhere. She looked at the mess of her desk and the papers getting wrinkled under Jennifer's butt.

"What do you want?" she grumbled. Pastries would have been a nice consolation prize for wrinkling her paper and smiling at her so early in the morning.

"A meeting," she ventured vaguely. She pushed her red glasses up until they were half covered in the curly bangs. Her brown hair was long and curly and Natalie wondered if she could pull off such a look. Then when Jennifer tired of having it up all day and let her hair down she knew she would never be a happy woman with that much hair on her head.

"Earth to Nat," the woman waved her fingers playfully in front of her.

The writer swatted them away indignantly. "What meeting with who?"

"Your eyes are breathtaking when you glare at me like that," she complimented.

The older woman by two months shook her head, "bread is meant to be buttered not humans."

"Depends on how kinky the humans are," the happy woman countered with a sultry delivery.

Natalie rolled her eyes, "who?" in a no-nonsense manner. Jennifer knew Natalie wasn't asking about kinky humans.

"Detective Joanna Polniaczek," she answered sweetly.

Natalie narrowed her eyes putting her cup safely on her desk before training her gaze back on the scheming woman who failed miserably buttering her up.

"What makes you think I can make it happen?"

"I never figured you for a school for girls' type of gal," she shrugged her shoulders answering indirectly.

The blonde leaned forward with a firm grip still on Natalie's desk. There were few people that she found as a threat in their office. The newspaper always had people come and go. Like her other would-be rivals Natalie was given a thorough background check until Jennifer was satisfied she knew enough about the people she worked with. Through happenstances and the tenacity of a viciously inquisitive woman she came across a link to an elusive detective and a coworker.

Natalie frowned, "even if I could," she smiled darkly, "what makes you think I would help you?"

Jennifer pouted before straightening her face to an uncompromising glare from the writer. "What do you want?" she maneuvered the question along her tongue distastefully. Men were so much easier to manipulate than women.

"I'll have to give this some thought," she offered, picking up her cup again. She turned her attention toward files that seemed too random for Jennifer to be convinced that Natalie was focused.

"You do that," she said grimly, thinking of another way to get to the detective. She left the desk feeling the curious gaze of the other writer on her back. She wouldn't share why she wanted to meet Joanna. That jeopardized her story. There were very few cops that got away unscathed going after big money like the detective did almost a year ago with Marshall Parent.

The story was dead now. The media had their fill of the golden boy's fall from grace. The case had been handled out of court, but high profile accusations weren't easily dismissed by the media. Now was a prime time to get the detective's impression on what happened.

Natalie picked up her phone on instinct. She didn't like Jo being under the radar of such a writer. It concerned Natalie when she knew most of Jennifer's pieces felt tailored to win a Pulitzer. Serious works had the potential to be devastating and despite Jo's reticence to return her calls she didn't want her hurt by the eager reporter.

The numbers were dialed from memory. Jo was never at home. She could barely be reached at the office. Boots, however, had become Jo's best friend. If Jo wasn't there she knew a message could be left. She let the phone ring, before it became clear no one was going to answer. She sighed holding the information in her head for further probing later.

She frowned at her papers that she straightened as much as she could considering how her visitor's backside had deformed them.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Perception made the world go round. Every day people were passing judgments. No one was immune from scrutiny. Wearing a police officer's uniform indulged Graham with a feeling of importance. It was not an imagined observation because it proved true for his present title of Assistant District Attorney. Despite the respect as he met the pleasant smiles of passersby, he saw something behind their eyes. They stared as if they were looking for something. No matter how many people he smiled and nodded to, they always had a question in their eyes when events such as these required his better half. Where was Blair?

For months, he felt their relationship lacking. They were partners, two halves of a whole dream that was far too ambitious for just one to endeavor alone. Graham would need a wife. An ordinary woman would never do the role justice. That's where Blair gracefully waltzed throughout a room, charming and endearing the world to not only her, but her husband as well. Blair's beauty wasn't the only attribute that attracted the former detective. In the back of his mind, a political career could come to fruition with a woman like that on his arm. His guilty conscience settled when he realized that he was in love with her. Unfortunately, now that seemed to have been the worst mistake he could have made. But then again who in their right mind could refuse her? She had her heart set on him almost as much as he was set to have her in his future.

A wrinkled hand was waiting to be taken, limply held out in introduction. Her eyes dragged over him in a cursory stare that gave away no sign of kindness.

"ADA Birch," she drew out his name. A curl hung in her hair. The color in her hair didn't make her look younger, but he knew Blair would find some way to compliment it.

"You are look especially pleasant tonight," he attempted to be congenial. He didn't want his puckering to be too obvious and offsetting. As the mayor's wife he was certain she could smell the aroma that came with the flourish of flattery.

"Thank you," she smiled. "Where is that delectable wife of yours," she made a point to browse the room with a look. Graham knew she had probably done that already, now it was only for show.

"Tied up at work I'm afraid," he held his drink in one hand, keeping his body at a diagonal so he was facing the crowd more than he was the older woman.

She nodded her head, sipping from her own glass. A ring that looked to weigh her whole hand down glittered in the light of the chandelier above. Money afforded ostentatious trinkets like those. He was sure Blair would have fawned over it, comparing it to some jewel in her collection acquired at an equally overwhelming cost.

He could see her interest perk at the news. "Her father owns the company. Surely she could have taken a night off to hob nob with the rest of us."

"I stopped using my daddy's richer than yours excuse when I was a child," the blonde sauntered over out of nowhere. A hand immediately claimed a glass of champagne. Placing a gentle kiss on her husband chin, she rested her gaze on her hostess' ensemble.

"Don't we all," the older woman sipped from her glass distractedly, "beautiful dress Blair."

"Enjoy it while it lasts. I'm having another made for me in blue with a different trim. Soon this'll be in the last year pile and I'll be dazzling Manhattan's elite with more Versace originals in my collection."

This seemed to impress the older woman. She leaned forward touching Blair's bare arm. "I'd kill to have that figure again. So will you when Graham gets you settled and pregnant." Blair smiled indulgently at the older woman continued. "Voters love family. The whole stability in the home marinates with their desire for security. We should have lunch some time. Graham is too ambitions to be happy as an ADA forever."

"That would be lovely," Blair offered her best smile as the mayor's wife did the same. Eyes, both young and old lacked the sincerity that their smiles implied. The older woman walked away making a spectacle of greeting her next victim.

Graham's hands came around Blair's waist. Dropping a kiss on her forehead, Blair smiled into the gesture. The camera shutter was a sign that they were no longer under the scrutiny of a society photographer. Never losing his smile and with an even tone, "you're late."

Blair followed her husband's lead. Smoothing at the lapel of his jacket, "I left a pile of unfinished paperwork for tomorrow morning. It was something I'd rather not have done, but I'd still like you to show some appreciation for my consideration."

"It would have been more considerate to be on time," he fumed nodding at the commissioner and his wife passing by.

Blair withheld an unflattering snort. "Well if I had been earlier perhaps I would have had a say in the family making plans you were making with the mayor's wife."

Graham turned on his wife. "That conversation requires you to be home Blair; not at work. Not making more money for your father, but with me, your husband. The man you promised to devote your life to." His stare was stern. It was disconcerting to watch the man she fell in love with dissipate in the instant it took for him to disregard her commitment to her career.

"As partners," she helped since it didn't sound as if Graham had finished.

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Jo winced when she saw a boy keel over from the surprising force of Roger's fist connecting with his stomach. The redhead picked up the hat the older kid had taken away as a joke. He glared at the other boys that started towards him, but pulling out his switch blade halted any further movement towards him.

Jo, impressed by his earlier actions, took this as her cue to intervene. She met the young boy's glare with an unyielding stare of her own. She gestured for him to move along and ordered the other kids to disperse. Then she told the small crowd huddled around the fallen boy to take him home and stay away for a while.

"He deserved it," the boy turned in the swivel chair in the main office. Jo looked down at the crowd of kids, easily spotting the small group leaving with their wounded friend.

"Yea, he did," Jo agreed, "but what the hell were going to do with that?" she nodded toward the pocket where he returned his switchblade.

"I was gonna whip it out and show 'em how to shave," he answered sarcastically. He had a good number of years to live, before he would have to worry about that. At the rate he was going, Jo didn't think he'd make it to that age.

Jo crossed her arms, leaning against the glass of the window that gave her a view of the whole floor. He didn't trust her. She didn't blame him. She could imagine what his life was like beyond these walls. The older kids that take his size for granted probably underestimated him. She could only imagine the type of support system Roger went home to.

"That's a pretty serious blade for a kid."

"Watching my ass is a pretty serious matter," he shrugged.

Jo doubted the blade was meant for the school aged kids that come in there. Granted the kids reminded her of devils incarnate, but they didn't warrant the harm Roger was ready to give.

"Your parents know you carry that thing around?"

Small eyes glared in his direction.

Two sets of footsteps signaled company. Jo looked to the door as it opened and Melvin accompanied by a long haired bearded counterpart entered.

"Roger," the bearded man nodded his head for the kid to take the envelope he was handing to him. One last look in Jo's direction he left the three adults to their business. Jo watched him leave then with her back completely leaning against the glass she took in the newcomer. He was a thin man. He looked almost malnourished.

"Danny this is Jo," he nodded to Danny introducing the brunette as the new member of their team. The longhaired man extended his hand that Jo took gauging the strength of the shake.

"Does she know what she's getting into?" he asked Melvin never taking his eyes off Jo.

Melvin shrugged his shoulders taking the seat behind his desk. Danny followed his cue taking a seat on the couch while Jo adjusted her direction to look at both men curiously. "You're in charge of integrating the detective."

Danny looked to Jo then back at his boss.

"No time like the present," he stood heading out the door.

Melvin hiked his brows waiting for Jo to follow the veteran's lead. Pushing off the glass and uncrossing her arms she made her way down the stairs greeted at the bottom by aviator shades and a crooked smile.

He wore a loose fitting shirt that looked like it may have fit him once upon a time. From the back pocket of his jeans, he retrieved a stick of gum devouring one before offering a minty strip to Jo. The brunette declined. A closing door and the sounds of the city drowned out the symphony of dings and chimes mixed with the noise of overlapping voices at night.

Jo fell into step with Danny as he led her away from the noisy arcade. She quirked her brow as two teens were lip locking in the alleyway of the arcade.

"Young love," Danny shook his head.

Jo snorted remembering how she was at that age.

"So Jo what you in for?" he chewed trading his attention with the sidewalk and Jo.

Jo answered with a curious look.

Danny smiled playing with the gum in his mouth. "We're the departments unwanted. I just want to know what I'm working with. If it's a problem with authority, no one runs us except for Melvin and he gives us a lot of slack. If you're a little heavy handed with the perps," he slammed his fist in his hand for emphasis, "I've found dirt bags need a little extra force to get through their thick skulls. If it's a secret, we're cops, and it won't stay secret for long." He opened the door to his Volvo unlocking the doors for Jo.

She settled into the seat. It smelled like salami, but Jo fixed her expression to stay neutral as he continued to talk about the world she'd let herself be convinced into.

"What's Melvin's story?"

Danny spit his gum out into the street then started the car. After he rested a lit cigarette comfortably in the corner of his mouth he leaned back considering how much to share. Melvin was a private man. He rarely shared anymore than he had to, which obviously made people curious.

"He's here for the same reason we are. We all have issues, but we're too damn good to be let go. So they use us. Drugs are the epidemic and the busts we make allow the suits to look good. We don't take the credit of course. With our jackets, the defense could say we used questionable means, get the case thrown out. But we pass the credit along so everyone is happy. We do what we can by whatever means necessary, some clean-shaven political puppet gets a decent case under his belt. And the suits give us our funding and bonuses for a job well done."

"Just like that?" Jo asked incredulously.

Danny took a drag of his cigarette. He heard the disbelief in Jo's voice. He couldn't blame her. Everything he insinuated was grounds for suspension or worse.

"We take all the risks. We're out here busting our asses, putting our shit on the line. You been under cover before?"

"Yea, it's like that?"

Danny whistled, shaking his head, "hell no, it's an all day every day thing. You don't get to go home until you've finished what you set out to do. Look at me." Jo had taken in his appearance earlier. "This is months of cultivating an image. You're gonna have to do the same thing if you don't want to stick out. Sticking out gets you killed 'cause they think you're either a cop or a snitch. Being either one here guarantees you a short life span."

"How long for you?"

The driver threw his finished cigarette in a puddle of water parking in a parking lot. He dragged a red coat from the backseat putting it on. Jo noticed then looking around at the restaurant where he had parked them. Getting out of the car he left a few wrinkles for show smiling at the frowning attendant.

"You trying to get us both fired?"

He replaced the keys to the Volvo in a set. "You worry too much."

"You don't worry enough."

The driver threw his finished cigarette in a puddle of water, parking in a parking lot. He dragged a red coat from the backseat, putting it on. Jo looked around, noticing the restaurant in front of them where he had parked. Getting out of the car, he left a few wrinkles for show, smiling at the frowning attendant.

"You trying to get us both fired?"

He replaced the keys to the Volvo in a set. "You worry too much."

"You don't worry enough."

Danny pulled something out of his pocket, handing it to the taller man. He looked down at the offering, the glare losing its fire. He looked around in habit, his eyes falling on the woman Danny had brought with him. His worry grew out of habit, but then again if she was with Danny then obviously she had a few vices of her own. He nodded his head, before stating quickly that he was going for a smoke break.

Jo closed the car door, looking at the tall man scurry into a beat up ford rusted from age. The door creaked as it opened, and sounding like it could break off if the owner decided to the close it any harder.

"That's Andrew," he nodded towards the formerly irate attendant.

"This is your job?" Jo looked at the booth, then at the young man heading towards them with a frown on his face when he saw Danny.

"Where you been?" he asked taking the keys to the Volvo that Danny and Jo had just arrived in.

"They can't live without me," he smiled to Jo. The younger man gave him a finger as he walked to the car, not bothering to turn. "That's Paulie, he's the owner's nephew. He's gonna be leaving for college soon, so you'll be taking his place."

"Will I?" Danny nodded. "I've already talked to the owner about bringing somebody new in. Besides he likes pretty faces."

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Jennifer frowned at the dark of the computer screen. She smoothed out the wrinkles when she saw them in her reflection. She wiped at her eyes, disinterested in the article she was given to edit by a fellow colleague. She understood the semi-hero worship she received from them. They're editor loved her and would let her get away with murder as long as she typed up an exclusive for the paper. And while people loved to pick her brain about past stories, once in a while someone built up the courage to ask her opinion on their work. It was foolish really. If the story weren't about the evolution of media, and if she wasn't so focused on her own project, she might have considered taking the story for herself. The writer was young and just out of college. She would be willing to please everyone if it meant that it seemed like they liked her.

Dropping her glasses on the table, she looked at the file she'd combed over. The envelope had been sent to her three days after Minerva died. Perhaps she knew her fate and wanted her story to be told by someone she trusted. That was how Jennifer made sense of it. Minerva had been so self assured in college. Why she would have needed a crutch like cocaine baffled the writer. The news of her death had been hard to hear. But it was made worse when she received the package. According to the paper, it was an allergic reaction to peanuts. Granted allergies can arise at any time, but it still seemed odd to the reporter that something so innocuous could have taken a life so abruptly.

She remembered Minerva full of life. A blonde haired force to be reckoned with until her husband got his hooks into her. Jennifer was never particularly concerned with marriage. The path that she had chosen offered more lonely nights under her own sheets than the company of someone she could commit to. She reconciled that loneliness with the drive to be more than what her family had ever dreamed she could become. Family— was why both women had bonded. They lacked a conventional support system from the people that had cared for them. Her parents were divorced and experts trading scathing barbs through their daughter more than actual parenting. For Minerva she felt like a possession to be handled rather than encouraged and eventually freed.

Even in death, they couldn't let her die on her own terms. The obituaries said allergy. The package meant for Jennifer told a more sordid tale. First, an admission of jealousy that Jennifer was never aware Minerva had possessed. Jennifer's freedom was a luxury her fortune had not afforded her; instead, it trapped her to a man she didn't love and responsibility that she didn't want. Then her words became lighter seemingly happy mentioning her savior from the doldrums of her existence in the form of Marshall Parent. An affair introduced her to the drug that would be the eventual reason her life ended. Her affair took a darker turn as he encouraged her dependence, taking control of her financials in a sense by constantly asking for money. He didn't need it, and she knew it, but she couldn't bring herself to say the word no. Especially since the word threatened what she had made with him despite the imperfection of it.

Marshall Parent had been an unfamiliar name until about a year ago when detective Polniaczek tried to bring him down for murder. The case was found lacking and only a slap on the wrist for possession was awarded. Since then the detective's world was turned upside down. She could sympathize with the woman, but it made sense to want revenge rather than to run away from a fight. Every attempt to speak to the woman at the precinct was thwarted by policemen who either didn't know anything or who were decidedly giving her the run around. In depth looks at her past garnered some interesting research about the detective's past. From sealed records of underage indiscretions to her rise to Langley college valedictorian the detective had lived an already interesting life.

Where was she now? Natalie Green was her only clue to that answer. She frowned at the mention of the reporter's name. She glared in the direction of her cubicle knowing she was typing annoyingly at her desk. She looked at the picture of Marshall and Minerva wrapped in each other's arms. The edges of the photograph were singed as if she were going to destroy it, but didn't. A keepsake she couldn't part with? Or perhaps more proof to make Jennifer's article that much more poignant. Jennifer could see her friend was happy even if it were for a brief time. There were more wrinkles and her face was more defined when the last of the baby fat of youth relinquished to mature cheekbones.

She had made a resolution to help. A dead woman had made it her last wish. She would expose Marshall. And if Natalie wanted to give her the run around too then she would use tactics of her own to get what she wanted.

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"The meeting went well," Danny told Melvin.

Jo stood by eying two additional members of the team she had been formerly introduced to. There was a light-skinned man name Jensen and a stout man with a dent in his chin named Carl. Neither man held smiling faces. If anything, they were wary of Jo; not welcoming. Danny was the only one of the four that offered a smile or any semblance of hospitality.

Attendants were at the bottom of the food chain in the luxury restaurant business. Even though they were entrusted with cars and whatever miscellaneous treasures they found in them. Sometimes money, other times jewelry, but the real treasure was the black book of contacts, potential clients for the drug dealer. While the high school graduate was hard at work Danny and the giant rifled through whatever personal belongings were waiting to be found.

Danny played his part well, perhaps too well in Jo's opinion. She saw the bag of white powder he handed to the tall attendant. Jo observed, but she didn't comment on what she most likely left to do. The kid kept to the front to retrieve tickets when guests were ready to leave. He was the only one that stayed sober that entire night. Danny's eyes were dilated from his own stash. He hadn't made it a secret; he looked at Jo, daring her to say something. She didn't, she only watched. This world was new to her, and who was she to make judgments just yet?

Danny had warned her it would be intense. She would do almost anything for a collar, but she hoped she wouldn't have to put that shit up her nose.

"Jo!" Danny yelled, snapping his fingers in her face.

The brunette jolted from her thoughts glared at the finger, then at the rest of the group staring at her expectantly.

"What?" she queried, irritated she had been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn't noticed they were addressing her.

"You're coming with us," Carl and Jensen hadn't waited for his explanation they had already gone. When Jo and Danny arrived downstairs there was a dark van waiting for them at the curb.

"This is an initiation," Danny stated, putting on gloves and throwing Jo a pair so she could do the same.

Jo looked at the two men trading glances with a smirk in the front seats. In one night alone Jo witnessed a cop sniffing and distributing drugs. He stole a car, but admittedly returned it. She could have just walked away, but something was keeping her here. The department wouldn't have her. Graham would hammer in the last nail already halfway in the coffin of her career. What did she have left if she didn't have the badge or the gun? She couldn't help people the way she wanted to behind the desk, handing handkerchiefs to battered women and scarred children. She wouldn't be much help writing tickets or filling out paperwork either. Her heart pounded. Her senses seemed to sharpen. Because the night and her company demanded a proverbial lamb for the slaughter, she wouldn't back down. Her inquisitive nature wouldn't let her tell them to stop the van and let her out. How far would she have to go before she was welcome into the folds of their world fully?

The van stopped in front of an apartment building. Danny retrieved a crumbled piece of paper from his pocket. Addressing the team as he read off the apartment number, he pulled out a gun, gauging Jo's reaction.

"Jo and I are going to take lead. You boys look out for any trouble. Carl, watch the door," he opened the van door. Jo looked questioningly at the opening and then with a cursory glance toward the two silent men who were watching her every move, she followed Danny's lead.

"Get me something good," Jensen smiled at Jo evilly.

"What are we doing?" she asked. Danny looked up at the building, counting the floors. Then he pulled down the emergency ladder a few feet from the van.

"House call," he stated.

"To who?" Jo asked, unsatisfied by the ambiguity of the entire evening up to this point.

"You'll see," the thin man began climbing the ladder.

The ladder shook from the weight, but Danny continued to move as seemingly unbothered. Jo glanced at the van. The light in the alleyway was dim, but she could have sworn she saw Carl's eyes in the reflection of the mirror.

"You coming?" she heard Danny ask. She answered with one hand then a foot claiming a step. She started the climb begrudgingly. There were many assumptions in her head about where this night would lead. She didn't want to over react but her body was already responding to the musings of her imagination.

Crouched and waiting in front of a window, Danny had it open when Jo joined him. He gestured with his head to go in, "ladies first."

Pursing her lips, she headed inside, careful to plant her feet carefully on the couch. She didn't want to topple over or cause something loud to crash and break. Stepping down from the cushion to the floor the room was barely lit, but there was enough light to side step a nearby table.

When Danny entered, he took the lead moving through the apartment with the ease of someone who knew the layout of the apartment. He had been here before. Jo followed at a sedate pace making sure that her steps were soft and quiet. Her sneakers wouldn't be loud, but the extra effort made her feel stealthy like a spy.

Danny moved past doors. Someone was snoring and he singled out the noise to be coming from the last door on the left. Jo happened to look across and see there was a bathroom. She turned her head when she heard the door creak open. She and Danny winced simultaneously. Danny stopped the door from opening. They both paused for fear that their host would awake.

The man was large and dark. His sheets seemed to glow in the little light that filled the room from the window and his VCR. Danny put on a mask and provided one for Jo as well. She looked at it then at her thin companion as he rounded the bed. "Closet, top shelf, in the gray Nike box," he pulled out the gun pointing it at the sleeping man. The mask hid Jo's frown, but her reticence was evident. When she didn't move Danny looked up, "problem?"

"What the hell are we doing here?"

"Closet, top shelf, in the gray Nike box," he repeated in answer.

Jo looked at the closet. She pulled down a few boxes before she withdrew the one that Danny had described. Pictures of bound women were inside it. Jo frowned, picking them up. Danny held his gun steady, whispering what it was that Jo had found. She held up one photograph, but her eyes never moved away from the bunch that she had left to look through.

Satisfied by their discovery, "let's go," he whispered. Jo looked up from the pictures putting them back as she found them while Danny made his way to the door. To the best of her memory, she put the boxes back where she found them.

"Who is he?" she asked.

"A rapist," he answered needlessly. Jo could have come to that conclusion with little imagination. Fear was clear and stuck in a moment in time for the women in the pictures. Memories of atrocities they would rather forget, but this man would keep as his trophies.

Danny was already out the window waiting for Jo. She spotted the lamp on the table she had been careful to keep upright when she first came in, side stepping the table, but brushing against the lamp. Without a second thought, she let it crash to the floor. Danny's eyes widened as Jo met his. The serenade of snoring was gone. The large occupant in the back room sounded very awake and Jo had turned her back to the exit, waiting for the large man to come running around the corner. She had seen the bat at the side of the bed. He didn't look like the baseball type, so it didn't surprise her when he rounded the corner waving it over his head, ready to face the unknown.

Jo took his momentum in stride and landed a blow to his gut. He hunched over, giving her a clear view of the back of his head. With a blow both fluid and potent in strength, the man fell limp on the floor. She looked at the wire belonging to the lamp and began tying him up with it. She took off one of his socks and stuffed it in his mouth. Looking around she made sure to make a spectacle of the room, as cops would expect when they saw a crime scene. Making her way to the back room, she took the VCR she had noticed. She went into the closet, throwing shoes out of their boxes accidentally on purpose and dropping the box full of Polaroid pictures.

Rounding the corner with her spoils in her arms, she stepped on the unconscious body. Danny looked at her with an odd smirk and then took the VCR as she made her way down first. Chuckling then following Jo, they made quick work of their descent.

"What took you so long?" Jensen started up the van again.

"You're present," Jo held up the VCR. Jensen looked at it oddly and then looked to Danny for an explanation. The thin cop in the torn shirt only smiled when he took off his mask. Jo ran her hands through her hair when her head was free.

"Did you find time in your shopping to get confirmation?" Carl asked from the passenger side seat as Jensen maneuvered the quiet streets.

Danny pulled out a cigarette, "Leo has been a busy punk, and I recognized at least four of those girls from the same apartment building." Jo looked from Carl to Danny questioningly. The smoker met her gaze as smoke rose from the holes of his nose. "Prostitutes don't go to the police when they're raped. Usually they get stuck with some asshole that'll take their statement and won't follow up. You know the type," Jo nodded her head; despite their occupation women still had the right to say no. "Three of the ten prostitutes he's raped live in that building. All we go to do is call in a breaking and entering and the boys in blue will find whatever else they need."

They were a good distance from the neighborhood when they made the phone call. Carl took care of the call while the others waited. It didn't take long. The stout man kept the message brief. He impersonated an old man worrying about the noise in the apartment above his. The owner of the apartment happened to be an older man, too senile to be too helpful when they questioned him about the phone call.

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Marshall knew better. He could feel the glares from his father, but he didn't care. The role of the good son was old. The scandal from a year ago had brought his father's wrath and unwanted negative attention to the company. His father forced him to tell him everything. It wasn't fear of reproach that elicited brutal honesty of his indiscretions. Marshall wasn't ashamed of his side business. He was his father's only heir and his future was set in stone with the company no matter how many terrible things came to light.

His father may not have been approving, but he was still his father. It was his duty to take his successor's shortcomings in stride and move on. For six months after the debacle with the junkie Paulo, he grew tired of the quiet life of industrial law. When Boots came to his door willing and wanting he knew she could not be denied. Boots would be another trophy to add to his collection, another beauty broken by a force stronger than denial, addiction.

"I can't wait to get that dress off you," he murmured in her ear as they danced.

Boots laughed, "You'll be waiting all night considering how long it took me to get it on. I'm getting my efforts worth."

"Mmmm…" he hummed in her ear. He wouldn't agree to wait, not when he wanted her this badly.

Marshall was like a starving man being denied food. All he wanted when he could have it was to eat his fill and beyond. It didn't take long for him to realize what a fickle lover Boots could be. One moment he was the only thought in her head. In another, he knew that even though a certain detective wasn't around he was still competing with her. It was not a feeling he cared to dwell on, but so far she was all his tonight.

"Blair," she continued to dance as she saw a familiar couple waltzing next to them.

The blonde turned her head, taking in the other couple.

Blair and Boots pulled away, embracing each other politely in greeting. Their male counterparts greeted each other with slight nods.

"I had no idea you'd be here," Boots smiled thinly at her former rival.

"Likewise," Blair replied while questioning her company. The rumor mills had claimed that Marshall and Boots were spending an inordinate amount of time together. Now, seeing her in the arms of the devil himself it seemed they were true. In the back of her mind, she couldn't help but wonder where Jo was during all of this.

"Excuse us boys," Boots took the lead, snaking her arm with Blair's as she pulled her away.

They had only one thing in common Jo. Graham privy to the relationship between both women worried more about that commonality than Marshall who couldn't fully appreciate it.

"How goes the married life?" Boots asked as they maneuvered through the throng.

"Lovely," the lawyer answered with some exaggeration, "you and Marshall seem… cozy."

"He's an agreeable distraction when Jo's in one of her 'I can't live without Blair moods'." The brunette realized that when Jo's rough days at work often sent the detective spiraling and without the life boat named Blair, Boots was the one picking up the proverbial pieces.

The blond, startled by the candid answer almost faltered, but Boots' stern hold held her steady. "We wouldn't want you falling face first and ruining that perfect little nose would we?" Neither the brunette's smile nor concern reached her eyes.

"So she's fine with you and him," Blair scowled freely.

Boots mask fell slightly, "what do you care? You haven't spoken to her in almost a year. I can try to fill the void that you left. In my own way I do. But even after you've broken her she still can't let go of you. Sometimes I think it's you she's fucking when I'm the one under her. The sex is so good I don't mind… that much."

"I'm happily married," Blair offered the first thing that came to mind. If it was enough for her to refuse Jo, it was enough to rebuff Boots' diatribe.

Boots leaned in tucking a stray hair behind the lawyer's delicate ear, "sell it to someone who hasn't seen how green your eyes get when I put Jo, me, and bed in the same sentence."

If Boots hadn't left to find her date Blair wasn't sure if she would have had a suitable response, at least one she would find believable.


End file.
